


A Matter of Timing

by subcircus



Category: Aliens (1986), Highlander: The Series
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-15
Updated: 2011-06-15
Packaged: 2017-10-20 11:13:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/212165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/subcircus/pseuds/subcircus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Methos thought he'd been very clever to leave Earth, and the Game, behind. What he found was far worse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Matter of Timing

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Дело времени](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3523037) by [Zerinten](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zerinten/pseuds/Zerinten)



Methos woke with a jolt that made him grunt with pain and the memory of his most recent death came flooding back. Looking down, he examined the rapidly receding sides of the gaping hole in his chest and winced.

 _Well, that’s more of my insides than I ever wanted to see_ , he mused.

His next task was to examine his restraints. He had managed to free his arms and legs before…before he died, and the events that led to that had managed to free his upper torso. He was intensely grateful for that small mercy. Hopefully he would be able to free himself before his captors returned to discover he was alive.

He didn’t know if they were smart enough to recognise that they had already killed him twice. For all he knew, all humans looked alike to these creatures. Either way, if they came back and discovered him alive, they would either have him for lunch, or _violate_ him again. Neither was an experience Methos wished to relive, so he worked with all his might to break free.

Not for the first time he wished he was still in the habit of keeping his sword and a couple of knives on his person. Instead, his sword hung ineffectually on the wall of his quarters. He had thought he was safe here. The irony made him laugh, though he quickly stifled it.

 _Who knows where these monsters lurk,_ he thought.

Monsters. Methos had never believed in real monsters. Hell, he’d been in the company of monsters, had been called one himself. But he never in his wildest imagination considered there were real monsters out there. Real and deadly, the stuff of a million nightmares.

He broke free and fell to the floor with a thud and the rattle of metal. He lay there for a while, not daring to move or even breathe in case they were there in the shadows, watching him. They couldn’t kill him, not permanently, but what they could do, over and over, was far worse.

He heard distant gunfire several floors above him. He didn’t know who they were, survivors maybe. He didn’t really care who they were, they wouldn’t survive much longer. But if those things were hunting whoever those poor sods were, it would be safe for Methos to move.

As he made his way down the dark corridors, he had a moment of pity for the other survivors, but at least it could only happen once to them. Death would come on swift wings, but not this Death. There was nothing he could do for them, even if he wanted to.

Methos is nothing if not a survivor. What he had to do now was get to a landing pad as quickly as possible, find one of the escape pods and get the hell out of here.

It had seemed like such an excellent idea at the time, a way of staying out of the Game with no risk of any Immortal finding him. It would be hard work, and Spartan living, but it would mean he could truly relax for the first time in millennia. It was better than Holy Ground.

As Methos lifted off, he looked down at the terraforming station below him and took his last look at LV-426.


End file.
